Susan's Meadow Knoll Journal

July 19. It’s been several weeks since I’ve written in this journal, mostly because I’m working very hard on Indigo Dying and all my writing energies go into the book.

The past few weeks have been book-busy, it seems. Earlier this spring, we decided that it was time to let our agent go and manage our own book-sale negotiations. This isn’t the first time we’ve gone unagented, but it’s probably the most significant of all the unagented periods in our career. And while we felt confident in handling our own affairs, it was still a little scary, especially since both series were up for new contracts, and since I was hoping that Berkley would take the short-story collection. Bill worked with our editor to develop contracts that met our expectations and hers, and we were very happy with the process, which was all quite business-like. Negotiating advances is essentially a numbers game; we keep close track of our sales, and Bill, having been a statistician in an earlier life, is comfortable crunching numbers. Working directly with the editor was unexpectedly satisfying—we liked our agent, but we always had the worry that agents have their own agendas, especially when they handle more than one author with the same publisher. The process also gave us a little more insight into the realities with which an editor has to work—something that usually got filtered out in the communications through our agent. Another little window into the complexities of the book business.

July 24. Last night I sat out on the porch, watching the dark creep across the meadow to the south. The night was clear, and I saw a pale meteor streak across the sky, as three deer browsed along the fence. A screech-owl was calling from the woods very close to the house, a mournful call, descending down the scale. And then I saw a great horned owl in flight, a menacing dark shadow winging across the sky. Two owls! If I were superstitious, I’m sure I would have hurried indoors and lit a candle to ward off the coming evil. But I’m not, so I just sat and listened and watched, grateful to be in a place where I can see the night fall onto a peaceful world and its innocent creatures.

July 26.

Yesterday morning, walking through the meadow to the lake, I saw the blue ruellias, or Mexican petunia in bloom and very pretty. It’s Latin name is Ruellia humilis, so-called because it’s low to the ground and sort of creeping, I suppose. But it’s a gorgeous plant, and certainly not humble, especially in the shade, where its azure blue is a lovely contrast to the green of the grass. I’m seeing this plant in nurseries more often, these days, and gladly. It’s hardier than domesticated petunias, and more drought-resistant. Nearby, the Maximilian sunflowers are blooming, sturdy and bright gold, a lovely, sunny color among the grasses. And not far away is a large stand of Western ironweed, which is adored by the Queen butterflies. They roost on the blossoms all night, and in the morning when we walk along the path, they rise up in great, glorious clouds of color. I have some ironweed in my garden, too, where it never fails, even in the hottest, driest summer.

July 29. Just outside our dining room door, we have a half-barrel pool, with a red cast-iron pump through which the water recirculates. Last summer, the pool was full of minnows from the creek. This year, the leopard frogs have moved into the pool, which probably provides the best frog living-quarters around. Yesterday evening, I counted 11 frogs, large and small, in and around the pool. I’m delighted to see these funny green creatures frog pic here and to hear their grumpy, throaty frog-conversation in the evening and early morning. I’m especially happy to see so many, because I know that world-wide, frogs are in trouble. Why, scientists aren’t sure. Maybe it’s acid rain, or toxic metal compounds in lakes and streams, or a thinning ozone layer. But I’m happy to report that this year, leopard frogs are happy and astonishingly fat at Meadow Knoll. In fact, as I looked at the pool full of frogs, I couldn’t help thinking of fried frog legs. Banish the thought!